


where I rise

by willowcabins



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, Seduction through food, What-If, hacker Root
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcabins/pseuds/willowcabins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm worried, Root," she said simply. Root gave her a tired half smile.<br/>"Don't worry about me, Hanna," she murmured. "While you're still around, nothing could ever happen to me." Hanna scoffed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 2000

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nowhere89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowhere89/gifts).



> MERRY CHRISTMAS JORDAN!!! you asked for a "what if Hanna was still alive fic" -- this fic spans six months between december 2000 and may 2001 and the rating will increase for chapter 4 WORRY NOT

The police station smelled like weed, urine and bile. Hanna tried to inhale and exhale only through her mouth, but it didn't help. She checked the time again: she had class in four hours. She uncrossed her legs and crossed her ankles instead. She stared at the ceiling and desperately began to ignore the anxiety twisting her gut. She began listing some of Foucault's main points in his essay "Crime and Punishment" that she had read just earlier this semester, but she couldn’t remember any of them. Panic surged through her body as suddenly the realisation forced itself on her. She was too tired to resist it. It was Friday, fifteen minutes to 4am specifically, in December, and Hanna was at a police precint because Root had called her.

“You’re my one phone call,” Root had said when Hanna picked up her phone on the third ring. Hanna blinked; she’d been asleep.

“What?” She’d blurted.

“I’m currently at the police precinct downtown. Wanna come pick me up?”

“Why?” Hanna asked dumbly.

“I was arrested,” Root had replied simply. Hanna had gaped. “I’ll explain later!” Root had added quickly; “just make sure you bring your debit card.”

On the drive downtown, Hanna had been dangerously distracted, as she tried to figure out what Root had done. Had she robbed a bank? Beaten a police officer? Killed someone? Or just forgot to pay a parking ticket? It was almost laughable that Hanna was able to construct a scenario in her head where each of these events was possible.

The police precinct was stuffy. As the minute hand of the analog clock over the desk hit 4:00, Hanna finally gave in and unwound her long scarf from around her neck. She had kept it and her thick autumnal coat on in the hope that it would signal her urgency to the officers, but none of the uniformed men behind the counter seemed to spare her a second glance.

"She's being processed," a tall one had said with boredom when Hanna had hurried in and provided a name. When she had asked what that meant, he had glared at her. Hanna had gulped and then forced herself to ask the terrifying question.

"Will I have to post bail?" the man looked up at her slowly, and then shook his head.

"She's not being charged with anything," he mumbled. Hanna smiled weakly in relief. The smile was not returned. Hanna sat down hurriedly.

There was a loud sound. Hanna jumped. She didn't think she had been asleep, but when she checked the time and saw it was 4.16, she assumed she had. She had been here for an hour and 45 minutes, now.

There was a buzzing; the metal grill opened. Root stepped through. She held up her wrists meekly to the officer, who unlocked them, smiling at Hanna over his shoulder. The knot in Hanna’s chest seemed to melt under Root’s smile. She exhaled quietly and got up. She wanted to be made at Root; to be offended and frustrated and bitter, but instead she smiled in relief and offered Root her scarf.

"The car's outside," she said simply.

"Hold on, ladies," the officer said, grabbing Hanna's shoulder harder than necessary. "You need to sign there." Hanna yanked herself free from his grasp and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Why? She wasn't charged with anything," she snapped, surprising herself with her own anger.

"There were no charges from us," he admitted, "but there still could be a civilian case. And just in case, I need you to sign here."

"Just in case what?" Root demanded, crossing her arms. The man sighed loudly.

"Its just police bureaucracy," he said, finally. "Just sign and leave." Hanna glowered, but gave in, signing her name with an exaggerated flourish at the bottom of the page.

When she turned around to leave, Root was already standing by the door. She opened it, and Hanna stepped out. It had grown colder over the last two hours; Hanna shuddered and wrapped her winter coat around her tighter. They walked in silence towards Hanna's car, though Hanna marveled how Root could march through this icy wind in only her leather coat, a small black beanie and Hanna's multicoloured scarf.

Hanna unlocked the car door in stony silence and started the car, blasting the heater and turning off the radio she had left on. "Root," she began. Root's lips thinned.

"You have class in four hours," Root pointed out.

"That doesn't mean we can't discuss this now," Hanna pointed out.

"That's exactly what that means. It's literary criticism: you need at least three hours sleep," Root countered, shivering and sitting on her hand. Despite the heater, the car was still cold.

Hanna sighed, shook her head and started the car. She pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the empty main street in relative silence. There was a thin layer of yet unsalted snow, so she kept a careful eye on the road and didn't drive fast. She sighed again, and then glanced at Root. Root had her head leaned against the cold window, staring out sadly. Hanna bit her lip, and decided to ask the question that had been burning on her tongue all evening.

"What did you do?" The words sounded timid, but Root didn’t seem to notice. She continued staring ahead of them.

"Nothing too bad," she evaded. Hanna bit her lip.

"Root?" She prompted, stopping in front of a red light and staring at Root with wide brown eyes.

"There were no charges against me, so it couldn’t have been important.” Root evaded again, before gesturing at the traffic light. “Its green; you can drive." Hanna sighed, but turned back forwards and started driving again.

"I'm worried, Root," she said simply. Root gave her a tired half smile.

"Don't worry about me, Hanna," she murmured. "While you're still around, nothing could ever happen to me." Hanna scoffed.

"Except you just got arrested?" Root yawned again.

"Can we discuss this?" She murmured. "I haven't slept yet." Hanna turned into their street and sighed.

"I know what that means, Root," she chastised. Root smiled at Hanna, and Hanna did notice the pronounced rings under her eyes. The car came to a slow stop in front of their apartment as Hanna slipped back into the same parking space she had occupied before.

Root sighed and got out of the car. “It doesn’t mean anything, Hanna,” she murmured. “I just want to sleep.” Hanna examined Root critically

"Just tell me what you did," Hanna sighed, stopping the car outside their apartment building. Root hopped out of the car and blew onto her pale hands.

"I hacked into the police mainframe."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see whether or not I could do it."

"And you failed?"

"No, I was successful."

"So why were you in prison?"

“I wasn’t in prison,” she corrected with a sigh. Hanna rolled her eyes.

“Why were you in police custody?” Hanna rephrased.

"I haven't figured that out yet." Root held open the door of their building and waved Hanna into the vestibule; Hanna walked in and unlocked the front door with a sigh. She held open the thick door and was greeted with a comforting wave of warmth. She frowned. The elevator was still out of order. She began walking up the steps. Root followed her.

"You need to elaborate," Hanna decided. Root bit her lip.

"I hacked in," she began, "and I hacked in well. I had read about this one other hacker called Phoenix who managed to hack every single police stations in his city. They called him Untouchable, and made a game based on that."

"A hacking game?" Hanna asked, making the words sound almost satirical. Root smirked, but nodded.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To practice," Root said matter of factly. Hanna scoffed.

"That sounds dumb," she muttered. Root smiled impishly.

"It is," she agreed. "I don't usually play, but that Phoenix guy..."

"You've talked to him?"

"No, he was a big deal in the early 90s, but he hasn't been around since ‘99 for some reason."

"So what about him?"

"He's just... he's so good at this."

"So you wanna be better?"

"Exactly!"

"That's a really dumb idea, Roo." Hanna was out of breath; they'd reached the fourth floor landing. She looked down behind her. Root had slowed down too, at least.

"When are they gonna fix that dumb lift?" Root muttered, opening her coat. Hanna smiled and shrugged.

"Probably once we start paying our rent on time," she joked. Root sighed loudly.

"Ugh,"  Root groaned. Hanna got the front door and unlocked it. Her cat looked up from the sofa, clearly unimpressed by their 5am appearance. Root narrowed her eyes at the cat.

"Has she been in my room?" She asked suspiciously. Hanna scooped up the tabby and kissed the top of her bed.

"No," she said happily. "Mr. Rochester would never do something like that." Root rolled her eyes. One of the kittens poked it head over the sofa. Root picked it up by the scruff of its neck while a second one wound itself around her legs. She chuckled and nuzzled the kitten happily. Hanna rolled her eyes.

“Please don’t do that again,” Hanna murmured into the cat. Root looked around and was surprised to see tears streaming down Hanna’s face; she knew it was probably a combination of exhaustion and fear, but she immediately felt guilty. She placed her cats down on the ground and then moved forward to give Hanna a hug. Mr. Rochester was still between them; she began purring happily and nuzzled Root’s neck. Root pushed her off and wiped Hanna’s tears away gently/

"Go to bed, Hanna," she murmured. "We can talk after literary criticism tomorrow." Hanna nodded, sniffing.

"Go to be yourself," she sniffed. "You should probably go to at least one class tomorrow," she added. Root sighed dramatically.

"I'm kind of tired," she mumbled. Hanna rolled her eyes, chuckling.

"You're the worst," she mumbled, walking into her room.

"Love you too," Root called, walking into her own room and starting up her laptop. The IM pinged, and she saw she had a message from one of her friends. Daizo asked "were you successful?." Jason’s messaged just said “police band says u were arrested do u need bail money.” Root sighed and closed her computer again. She would sleep first.

But she felt restless; itching. She sighed and unfurled herself from her bed, walking into the kitchen again. She sat down on the sofa, grinning as two of her kittens joined her again. Mr. Rochester had disappeared into Hanna’s room with her. They had adopted the large tabby from the shelter together, where the employees had assured them that the cat was a) male and b) very fat. Both were proved wrong when Mr. Rochester had kittens approximately 8 weeks ago. Root loved the small mewling creatures though, whom she had all named now. As she settled down, cross legged, on the couch, they sat around her, cuddling into warm parts of her body. She smirked, and began doing her assignment for Differential Equations.   

Root was engrossed; math was theraputic like that. So it took Hanna murmuring her name several times before she realised. “Root.” Hanna was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes wide. She came forward and looked down at. “What are you doing?” She asked.  Root sighed and put down her homework.

“What are you thinking about?” Hanna murmured. Root sighed.

“Someone did it.”

“Someone did what?”

“I got arrested today for hacking into the police mainframe.”

“Yes?”

“Phoenix did it,” she explained, staring down at her homework. “He managed to hack the police mainframe when he was 21 and he was never caught.”

“But you were caught?”

“Yes, but not because they traced my router code.”

“Why then?” Hanna asked, settling down on the sofa.

“I think,” she said slowly, “because they’ve been watching me.”

“What?”

“I fit the profile of a cybercriminal.”

“Cybercriminal?”

“That’s what they call me. I’d prefer hacker, but the US government seems to be in search of brilliant new names.”

“Stop being sarcastic.”

“I’m not!”

“But so they tracked you down because you…fit the type?”

“Sort of.”

“What can you do against that?” Hanna asked sarcastically. Root didn’t pick up on the sarcasm though; she sighed loudly and frowned down at her screen.

“Nothing, I suppose,” she mumbled. Hanna rolled her eyes and lea ned forward, closing Root’s laptop with a snap.

“Well, I mean, first of all,” she said, “you could sleep.” Root rolled her eyes. “Second of all,” Hanna added, “you could stop all the illegal activity. Bail gets expensive really fast, you know.”

“I wasn’t charged today.”

“Yeah but next time.”

“I don’t think they had anything on me.”

“You were let off with a warning!”

“No, I think its because they had no proof.”

“What?”

“They tried to find proof of me in this hack, but they couldn’t. They didn’t have enough probable cause to take my laptop and search it, and I didn’t give them anything.”

“They’re the police, Root. They’re not trying to hurt you or anything.” Root’s lips thinned.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, thoughtfully. Hanna chuckled, getting up from the sofa slowly, and offered Root a hand.

“Come on,” she murmured. “It’s too early to be concocting conspiracy theories.” Root smiled and accepted Hanna’s hand, getting up quietly from the sofa.

“I can’t sleep, though,” she admitted. Hanna shrugged. “Come, be my portable heater then,” she suggested, dragging Root into her own bedroom. She lay down, and Root curled around her, pushing two cats out of the way so she could adequately curl around Hanna. Hanna smiled and fell asleep rapidly. Root stayed up for another hour, watching the analogue clock tick away and listening to Hanna’s regular breathing, trying to empty her mind and remember that everything important was here, with Hanna.  

Hanna had known Root all her life. Hanna was the one who had fashioned her nickname. When they were young, Hanna had called her Root. Hanna had always called her Root, though exactly where she had picked up the nickname was shrouded in mystery. Root's mother had claimed it was a diminutive of "Groves," which Root always assumed to be the least true theory. Hanna's mother thought it derived from Winnie the Pooh's friends Kanga and Roo, and Hanna herself believed that adding 'r's to sounds had simply been a hobby of hers as a child. No one knew, but Root loved the nickname anyway. It was Hanna’s.

 

“This is my punishment?” Root asked, incredulous, looking around with a quirked eyebrow. Hanna grinned happily.

“Yup!”

“The biology department mixer?”

“Yup!”

“You know, Hanna, this is just your minor. You don’t have to be here.”

“I know, but I need more biology friends.” Root wrinkled her nose.

“Do you, though?” She asked critically, observing the room with aloof distaste. “Everyone here is either a nerd or a desperate pre-med.”

“We’re nerds.” Hanna pointed out. Root huffed.

“A different kind of nerd,” she clarified. Hanna smirked.

“Whatever,” she hummed, looking around. She grinned when she spotted someone from her “History of Infectious Diseases” class and waved at him. The young man’s face lit up and he waved back. Root huffed even louder.

“Oh I see why we’re here,” she muttered under her breath. Hanna elbowed her.

“Play nice,” she chastised. Root rolled her eyes.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” she mumbled. Hanna shot her a frown as Root walked away.

“Don’t forget you’re not legal!” She called after her, but Root ignored her.

The party had only started an hour ago, but already the food table was nearly empty. The week before finals was a bad time to offer college kids free food, Root thought dryly. She picked up the whole serving bowl of tortilla chips, which was less than half full, and was about to walk over to the bar when someone popped up next to her.

“Are you going to take all of that?” The new girl demanded, eyeing the chips. Root shrugged.

“There aren’t that many there,” she pointed out. The other girl looked between the table and Root again.

“Give me half,” she decided. Root narrowed her eyes.

“Please,” Root amended, gripping the bowl of chips righter. The other woman sighed and rolled her eyes, reaching forward for the chips. Root evaded her grip. She was the only one who was allowed to be grumpy about being her.

“There are others,” she said with a lofty gesture. The other girl narrowed her eyes.

“You can’t take a whole bowl for yourself,” she snapped.

“What are you going to do about it?” Root sneered. The girl’s jaw clenched, and she seemed to size Root up when a stern voice cut through their discussion.

“Shaw! What are you doing?” A young man demanded, stepping between them. The girl, Shaw, seemed to deflate.

“She took all the tortilla chips, Cole!” Shaw snapped, glaring at Root behind Cole. Cole sighed and leaned towards the table, offering Shaw the bowl of Doritos.

“Have these,” he commanded. “Now, behave. I’m trying to make friends, not alienate people.”

“Why did you bring me along then?”

“You promise, Shaw.”

“I know, I know. I just didn’t foresee meeting  a chip stealing child,” Shaw snapped. Cole turned to Root and smiled tightly.

“I’m so sorry about Shaw,” he said, trying to be light. “She’s just a little…”

“A little what, Cole?”

“Hungry.”

“Root, what have you done?” Root turned around as Hanna approached them. Root made a face. “Oh, hey Cole!” She added, shooting him a quick smile Cole.

“I haven’t done anything,” Root replied defensively. Hanna quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

“You have a whole bowl of chips,” she pointed out. “Decorum dictates you only take a handful, Root.” Shaw snorted behind Cole. Root glared at her and, taking a very large handful, defiantly put the bowl back. Shaw grabbed the bowl victoriously. Cole chuckled quietly and grinned at Hanna.

“Did you also force her to come?” he asked conversationally. Hanna smirked and nodded, linking her arm through Root’s, upsetting her chips.

Root decided not to complain as two fell to the floor; though when she looked up, Shaw was smirking at her again.“She owed me one,” Hanna was explaining to Cole, “so I thought I could use her as a tool to meet people.” Cole grinned as Hanna turned to Root. “This is Cole,” she added unnecessarily. “He and I were lab partners for Molecular Biology of Oncogenes.”

“And Biology 101!” Cole quipped. Hanna chuckled.

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten that!” She admitted. “Anyway, this is my best friend Root.” Cole stuck out his hand to Root, but because she was holding the chips in her right hand, she awkwardly shook his hand with her left hand. Shaw didn’t offer her hand, so neither did Root.

“This is my best friend, Shaw,” Cole introduced, nudging Shaw forward by the shoulder. “She’s in pre-med.” Hanna extended her hand and smiled at Shaw.

“Were we in Human Anatomy together?” she asked tilting her head. Shaw gave her a strained fake smile and nodded.

“I think so: was it with Hickman?”

“Last semester, yes!”

“Yeah, I thought i recognised you.” Her act and her smile were unconvincing, and Root raised a delicate eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes at Root as Cole and Hanna began discussing their schedules next semester. Shaw said something quiet to Cole and then slipped away towards the drinks. Root decided to follow.

“You’re an awful actress,” she told Shaw conversationally. Shaw shot her a glare.

“I’m a pre-med,” she snapped, “not in Theatre, so why does it matter?” SHe picked up a wine bottle and stared at the label. She unscrewed the bottle and sniffed experimentally at it. She seemed to decide it was okay to drink, because she poured a plastic cup full of it.

“Even Hanna could tell there was something off about the way you behaved,” Root explained.

“Even Hanna?” Shaw asked, raising an eyebrow. Root smirked, pushing forward her own cup so Shaw would fill that too.

“Hanna’s too trusting,” Root explained with a shrug. “I’m the more synical one.”

“Also, the more annoying one,” Shaw grumbled. Root couldn’t stop grinning.

“Would you rather go back?” She offered, gesturing at Cole and Hanna in the corner. Shaw’s lips thinned.

“I only have to stay until ten,” she murmured. Root looked down at her watch and raised another eyebrow.

“That’s more than an hour away,” she pointed out. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“An hour is not that long in my book,” she hummed. Root tilted her head.

“Sameen Shaw,” she murmured, repeating the name experimentally. Shaw looked up at her, eyes hardened with an unspoken challenge. “I remember why you’re name was familiar,” Root murmured.

“Why?” Shaw asked, tilting her head.

“That gunman that came on campus in April last year. You tackled him down, right? Saved someone’s life?”

“Cole’s life,” Shaw corrected. “I saved Cole’s life.”

“You’re very different than how I imagined you.”

“You imagined me?”

“Yes, I thought you would be somehow heroic and arrogant.”

“Disappointed?”

“The arrogance is still there,” Root corrected with a smirk. “It’s just you’re ...harder.”

“The only reason I jumped in front of that dumb gunman is because I knew he didn’t know what he was doing. I mean, he wasn’t even holding the gun properly.”

“Do you have military training?”

“Why, are you planning on hiring me?”

“As what?”

“Some kind of mercenary.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“You think you’re being sarcastic,” Shaw said with a smirk as she pushed herself away from the wall, “but you’re not as good as an actress as you think.”


	2. January 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a rustle, and someone sat down on Root’s left. She looked up, and was surprised to see the girl from the christmas party - Shaw - putting her black travel mug on her tiny table with a thump.  
> “Don’t confuse this as sentiment,” Shaw snapped. Root blinked, surprised. “I only sat here because there aren’t any other spaces.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THAT ITS SLIGHTLY LATE but i needed to move out of my apartment and that caused SOME stress but now im back and happy so yay update!!!

Root had a habit of always going to the first class. Hanna rolled her eyes sarcastically when Root explained this idea to her on the train back to university; "most people go to all classes," she explained. Root scoffed.

"Matrix Numerical Analysis is at 9.30 Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I doubt even half the class is going to turn up regularly," she claimed scathingly.

"Well, you certainly won't," Hanna teased. Root sighed dramatically.

"Always such a critic," she tutted. Hanna smirked and then pulled out one of the many books she'd received for Christmas and began reading. Root sighed loudly; she had had to put her laptop in her checked in luggage that was at the bottom of the pile at the other end of the train. She stared out, instead, plotting her next attack on the police mainframe.

 

On Monday, January 9th, Root sat in her class exactly at 9:25. She yawned loudly and sipped on her coffee bitterly. Who on earth scheduled classes so early? Who did they think would come?  Anyway, this class was only taught by an instructor, not by a professor. Root had great plans to learn all the material herself. It was faster like that anyway.

The classroom filled up steadily. Root was surprised. It was a small lecture room, with a maximum capacity around sixty people, and yet people kept on streaming in. The instructor came in late, his hair in disarray and his tie crooked. Root’s eyes darkened as she observed him put down a large stack of thin pieces of paper, each filled with minute handwriting. He wrote his name on the board in an untidy scrawl. Root narrowed her eyes, until she read Jason Greenfield. She rubbed her lips together absently, trying to remember where she had read the name before,

There was a rustle, and someone sat down on Root’s left. She looked up, and was surprised to see the girl from the christmas party - Shaw - putting her black travel mug on her tiny table with a thump.

“Don’t confuse this as sentiment,” Shaw snapped. Root blinked, surprised. “I only sat here because there aren’t any other spaces.” Root looked around. Shaw was right; this was the only free space. People had began to sit down on the stairs. She smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you still annoyed about the chips?” she asked. Shaw narrowed her eyes at her, but before she could make some cutting comment about Root’s gluttony, Jason Greenfield spoke up in a timid voice, and her attention snapped to the front.

Although young, quiet and short, Jason Greenfield turned out to be a good lecturer. Root even dained to take notes (in her head, she could hear Hanna smirking at her, calling her a good student). Shaw sat next to her, studiously making notes for the whole hour. Root watched her elegant calligraphy fill the page, though Shaw was too intent on the lecture to notice Root’s intense gaze.

Half way through the lecture, Shaw took off her jumper to reveal a tattoo on her arm. The black lettering of the ‘USMC’ jumped out at Root immediately. She tilted her head at it, suddenly running through calculations.

At the end of the class, Root nodded at Shaw’s tattoo. “You were a Marine?” she asked. Shaw scowled at her, putting the jumper back on.

“Still am,” she snapped. “One weekend a month.”

“An active reserve?” Root asked, raising an eyebrow. Shaw’s jaw clenched, but she nodded.

“Yes.” Root smiled.

“My foster father is in the navy as an active reserve,” she told Shaw conversationally. Shaw just shrugged and began packing her bag quickly. Root looked around; there was a bustle of people and loud chatting, and a crowd of people surrounding Greenfield. Root tilted her head, and decided she would come back on Wednesday to talk to the instructor. Shaw shouldered past Root gruffly, and Root followed, still stewing about this woman.

 

When Root joined Hanna for breakfast on Wednesday morning, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her. “What are you doing?” She asked. Root nibbled on Hanna’s toast quietly, picking up the ‘Technology’ section of the New York Times that was spread across the table.

“Breakfasting,” she replied nonchalantly.

“Why?” Hanna demanded, still suspicious. Root looked up and grinned.

“To be with you?” She tried. Hanna continued glaring at her suspiciously.

“Do I have to repeat the question?” She asked after a moment of silence. Root sighed loudly.

“I’m going to class again,” she admitted.

“Are you finally taking my advice?” Hanna asked, perking up.

“And going to every class? No! I’m just...going to the second class.” Hanna smirked in disbelief.

“I’m excited for this to become a regular thing,” she hummed. Root glared at her, but let the comment slide. She had a bus to catch, anyway.

  

Over the next couple of weeks, she went to class. Hanna teased about her initially, but by the second week of January it was old news, and by the third week of January she didn’t even notice it anymore. Every class, Root positioned herself so she could watch Shaw.

She watched Shaw critically. Shaw wasn't like other people. Root had quickly learnt, to everyone's surprise, how to read people. While Hanna sat next to her on the bus and read books, Root had spent a large part of her childhood watching people. People who flinched and fidgeted when she mentioned her mother, people who frowned when she mentioned more men her mother dated, or people whose forehead furrowed when they double checked Root's test scores. People who frowned at Root’s accent, and smiled when she slipped into the refined ‘Northern’ accents she heard on tv. There were always people who didn’t like Root’s assertions, and so it was crucial for Root to find them, to root them out, and to manipulate them. Scores of people doubted Root, and she had quickly learnt how to recognise them.

Hanna didn’t care. Hanna still pronounced syrup as ‘ser-op’ and caramel as ‘car-Mel’ and didn’t mind when people tried to correct her.

Shaw wasn't like any of those people. Shaw’s English was unaccented and she never corrected anyone; Shaw wouldn't cross herself absently when encountering a bad thought; Shaw wouldn't raise her eyebrows at the mention of a man's name. And Shaw did not judge Root. Root tilted her head. Shaw should be easy.

Shaw should smile when Root remembered her name, and graciously accept compliments, and sweetly ask Root where the nickname came from.

But she wasn't easy; she didn’t react predictably.

A small thrill buzzed through Root's veins. She grinned. This was a challenge. She took out a small jar of lip balm and still watching Shaw eat a sandwich in the middle of the lecture hall, rubbed the lip balm along her lips with her finger. She carefully rubbed them together until the balm was evenly distributed on her lips. Then she tilted her head thoughtfully, and tucked away her things.

At the end of the class that Friday, Jason Greenfield nervously announced their first assignment. He handed out the sheet, already neatly assembled for their work. He set the due date, and, with a nervous cough, claimed that any late assignments wouldn’t be accepted. He continued to explain that this was worth 15% of their grade, but Root began tuning out. Her gaze narrowed in on Shaw.

Shaw frowned down at the sheet as they left the classroom and shook her head. Root noticed Shaw's nearly imperceptibly slumped shoulders. She fell into step next to her.

"Let me buy you a coffee," she suggested cheerfully. Shaw raised an eyebrow at her, and looked like she was about to tell Root to get lost. Root added "And something to eat?" quickly. Shaw frowned, but ultimately nodded.

"Fine," she agreed. "Only if you're paying."

There was a starbucks five minutes from campus. Root liked their cappuccinos best for absolutely no reason; Hanna sniffed every time Root appeared with her large bright red cup, quoting figures of exploitation and tax evasion that haunted Starbucks. Root usually ignored her with a smirk; the expensive turkish cafes that Hanna and her literary friends liked to frequent served too bitter coffee for her. Root liked things sweet.

Once they had their drinks, and Shaw had a scone and a sandwich, which totalled to a surprisingly high number at which Root didn't bat her eyes at, Root examined Shaw over her mug.

"Did you see that you could do the assignment with someone?" She asked conversationally. Shaw narrowed her eyes at Root.

"Are you trying to make me do your work for me?"

"No."

"What then?"

"You looked pretty concerned about that assignment."

"Oh I did?"

"Yes, you did."

"Well, I'm not."

"You're not?"

"Did you not read the note at the end of the assignment? We will cover most of the items on the assignment in the next week, which is why its only due next weekend." Root nodded.

"That's probably true," she agreed casually. Shaw angrily devoured her scone in three bites.

"Probably?" She repeated, rolling her eyes.

"All I am saying," Root clarified, "is that working together might benefit you."

"Benefit me?" Shaw scoffed. "By making me owe you a debt?"

"I don't need favours a lot, you know."

"I don't like owing people things."

"Don't think about it as a debt, then."

"What do you think better describes it?"

"A favour."

"I don't trust you enough."

"Is trust really necessary?"

"In most transactions like this, no. But when dealing with you?" Shaw began unwrapping her sandwich. "Yes."

"I wouldn't do the homework for you," Root clarified.

"You still have the upper hand," Shaw pointed out, speaking through a full mouth again.

"Only slightly," Root corrected. Shaw rolled her eyes.

"I don't need to owe you anything," she decided cliply. Root pursed her lips, but nodded, sipping at her cappuccino slowly.

"I have to leave," she decided. Shaw shrugged.

"Text me if you need help," she added, putting down her phone number on a napkin. Shaw grunted. Root put down the napkin next to her, and then left.

 

As she came home, Hanna tilted her head at her.

"Any luck making your friend?" she asked. Root frowned and checked the coffee pot. It was empty. She started brewing another pot and bit at her lip. The winter air had dried it out again, and she felt cracks forming.

"No," she admitted. Hanna raised an eyebrow.

"That must be a first," Hanna noted with a touch of sarcasm. Root pouted at her as she started toasting herself some lunch. Hanna tilted her head. "What happened?"

"She's not... like us?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Root admitted, buttering her toast generously. "I think she doesn't like people so much."

"You should get on great then!"

"Well, no. I think she doesn't like people differently."

"Differently how?"

"I like people." Root moisturized her lips carefully with lip balm again. “She really doesn’t.” Hanna frowned.

“What does she like?” Hanna asked. Root smirked.

“Food.”

 

The assignment was due on January 31st. Root had finished it the day after it had been assigned, but she started working around the library a lot. Shaw worked in the library, and so Root wanted to be available to her. Unlike some of her Professors, Instructor Greenfield only uploaded the assignments when he set them. With a sweet smile and a kind general remark, Root got the next to assignments out of him. These took more work, so she happily did them, sitting always in Shaw's eyesight, browsing through the Numerical Analysis Textbook.

Finally, on Thursday night, Shaw seemed to crack. She strode over to Root's table, slammed down a heavily annotated version of the original assignment sheet and pointed at question 3 and question 9. "I don't know how to do part d and e of question 3," she began, "and the entirety of question 9. Since you just finished assignment number three for this course, you should help me."

"Me?" Root asked sweetly. Shaw ground her teeth together.

"I went to see the instructor, and he recommended I asked you for extra help since you're so bright. Did you pay him to do that?"

"Pay him?" Root chuckled. "I knew he'd pass that tidbit on for free."

"Whatever you did, just explain them to me."

"And?" Shaw sighed dramatically.

"And I'll owe you one," she added. Root immediately perked.

"Why didn't you say so?" she cooed, flicking through the textbook to find the right pages. "Now, let's start with nine because weirdly enough that's easier. Then we should do ten."

"I already did ten!"

"Yes, but you did it completely wrong, so I'm going to help. Oh, you also messed up 5a), which invalidates all your work for all the other parts." She smiled at Shaw. "Buckle up, soldier, this is going to be a long night."

"Don't ever call me soldier again."

"Yes ma'am."

 

Once it hit 4am, Shaw was exhausted. The math kept on swimming in front of her eyes, and she blinked hard. In boot camp, they had been forced to stay up for as long as possible. It was a crucial exercise for soldiers, because you had to know what sleep deprivation did to you in order to be prepared for hostile situations in which you were exhausted and hallucinating. One soldier in her platoon had begun braiding her hair into cornrows obsessively at 48 hours in an attempt to keep everything organized. One of Shaw's comrades had started talking to trees after 72 hours. Shaw had just felt furiously thirsty and constantly saw lights in the corner of her eyes. That was true exhaustion.

But what she was feeling now felt deeper than that. Root was a good teacher; she understood the material so easily that it seemed to settle in her stomach. When Shaw didn't understand the textbook, she would recast the problem in a different light. To Root, the problem was a work of art; different lightings accentuated different ideas, but ultimately the right answer was still found. Shaw felt blind when Root finished her second explanation about how 5a) worked and she still sat there cluelessly. And somehow Shaw had expected Root to gloat; instead, she recast the problem again, breaking it down until Shaw saw every component.

Suddenly, it made sense.

Root seemed to be unaffected by Shaw’s slow exhaustion. She grinned down at the finished assignment and glowed happily with pride.

“You’re done!” She told Shaw cheerfully. Shaw sighed.

“Does this mean I can go home?” She asked, voice hoarse. Root grinned.

“Unless you want me to invite you over,” she insinuated with a wink. Shaw got up with an eyeroll.

“Never,” she assured Root. Root just leaned back in the chair and smirked.

“See you in class!”

 

Friday started badly. The bus ran late, and the air was icy out, and Shaw arrived five minutes late. She looked around the class. It was completely full again, every chair occupied. Assignment handing in days could be like that. Root  was sitting at an aisle seat, but grimaced at her, indicating her surroundings. Shaw sat down on the step next to Root’s seat with a sigh. Root grinned at her and chucked down a cereal bar.

“Morning, sleepy head,” she murmured with a smirk. Shaw rolled her eyes, but tore the cereal bar open with her teeth and began eating it anyway. “Want me to hand in your assignment?” Shaw glared up at Root, but handed her her assignment anyway, so Root could skip to the front of the classroom and deposit it in the box marked “assignments”. As she swallowed the last bite of the cereal bar, she hoped she hadn’t made a mistake by trusting this girl.


	3. February 2001, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seduction through food and math

"I just really hate early morning classes," a familiar voice said. Root looked up and smiled. Shaw slammed down her large black travel mug with a thump and glared at Jason’s back as he innocently wrote an equation on the board. Root smirked. "I mean, I don't even have time to have breakfast," Shaw added. Root smiled and offered up a bright orange clementine. Shaw narrowed her eyes at it.

"Clementines aren't good at this time of year," she complained. Root looked between her and the fruit in surprised.

"What do you mean?" She asked. Shaw took the clementine out of Root’s hand and prodded it, shaking her head. "You said they were a winter fruit. It's winter."

"I said that in January," Shaw pointed out, sitting down heavily and continuing to inspect the clementine.

"And?" Root demanded.

"Clementines are only really good in either December or January, and even then you're pushing it."

"Pushing it," Root repeated, incredulous. Shaw nodded, and then began peeling the fruit. "But these look fine?"

"Yeah,” Shaw agreed, “but they taste grainy."

"Well, I bought a pound of them!"

“Why?” Shaw asked. Root barely ate. Shaw couldn’t imagine Root eating fruit.

“For you!” Shaw stared at Root.

"For me?" She repeated, completely confused.

"Yes!" Root answered, exasperated.

"Well, you're gonna have to eat half,” Shaw pointed out diplomatically. “I'm not gonna eat a whole pound of subpar clementines."

"Seriously?" Root demanded.

"Yes.” Shaw shook her head, peeling off a segment of the clementine and frowning at it before she ate it. “I can't believe you don't know this!” She added, shaking her head at the grainy taste of the fruit. “I bet you buy apples in spring too."

"I shouldn't buy apples in spring?" Shaw rolled her eyes dramatically, eating another two segments of clementine.

"God, you're so lucky Hanna does all of your grocery shopping."

"She doesn't do all of it," Root muttered bitterly. Jason dimmed the lights in the room; his new indicator that he was about to start lecturing. Root watched Shaw carefully as she quickly finished eating the clementine, pouting slightly. Root couldn't believe that she would have to look up seasons of fruits now.

Class started, and Root, as usual, sat back and listened absently while Shaw scribbled notes.

 

At the end of the class, Jason looked around nervously. "I have your marked assignments here," he mumbled. An explosion of whispers rippled through the class as suddenly everyone surged up to get to the front of the class. Root smirked and got up, joining the throng of people moving towards the desk, where Jason had lain out the assignments in alphabetically order. He watched anxiously as his order was destroyed and people rifled through piles recklessly. When he spotted Root in the crowd, though, he grabbed her sleeve.

"Ms. Groves," he murmured, pulling Root out of the crowd just as Root grabbed her and Shaw’s assignments. Root looked over at the assignments and then sighed, allowing herself to be dragged by Jason.

"I prefer 'Root'," she told him cliptly.

"Root," he corrected himself, smiling at her. "Your assignment was amazing."

"Thank you," Root responded, slightly dismissively.

"I am incredibly impressed,” he continued. “I mean, more than anything, you handed in next months assignment as well?"

"Yeah," Root shrugged. Jason stared at her with large eyes. "I was bored!" She added defensively.

"It's just incredibly impressive," he repeated. Root sighed and extracted herself from his grip.

"Thanks," she said, slightly condescendingly. He blinked at her, surprised, but she already had both hers, and Shaw’s assignment and walked away.

“Here you go!” she said cheerfully, handing Shaw her piece of paper. Shaw slid it in her bag without looking at it. Root’s face fell. “Aren’t you going to check your mark?” she asked. Shaw shook her head.

“I have places to be,” she said briskly, walking away quickly. Root sighed. It served her right for expecting a thank you from a girl like Shaw, to be honest.

 

Shaw did say thank you, but in Shaw’s way. On Wednesday morning, she was on time and saved Root a seat. "I accidentally packed two," she said, throwing one of the cereal bars into Root's lap. Root jumped and looked down at the bright green wrapping paper and made a face.

"I don't like cereal bars," she explained, when she looked up again. Shaw recoiled in shock. Someone not liking these cereal bars (they were the special ones, with maple,) felt disconcertingly strange to her. She narrowed her eyes at Root and looked down at the ceral bar.

"Are you sure?" She demanded. "They're the expensive kind!" No reaction. "With maple!" Root looked at the bar in her lap again, and then up at Shaw. She tilted her head and accepted it. Shaw grinned at her.

"Thank you?" Root offered, looking down at the bar before shrugging it and opening it carefully. She nibbled at the beginning, and then tilted her head, surprised.

"They're good right?" Shaw asked through a full mouth. Root smirked.

"Yes," she agreed, surprised.

"It's the maple," Shaw explained, finishing half the bar in one bite. "It gives me the energy to stand this class."

"This class isn’t so bad," Root admonished. Shaw sent her a glare.

"Your opinion doesn't count," she said authoritatively. Root smirked ruefully, but just rolled her eyes.   

 

The midterm for Jason’s class was scheduled for February 15th. Shaw had began hiding in the library, memorizing equations and trying to figure out some of the harder components of the assignment questions so she was prepared for the exam. Although she never told Root where she was, and she always changed her location, Root always seemed to find her.

And although Shaw growled and rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, she never really minded. That evening, Root dropped a sandwich on Shaw’s desk and sat down next to her heavily, staring at Shaw quietly until Shaw acknowledged her existance. Shaw sighed and looked up, exasperated.

"Have you ever done special ops training, in the army?" Several people looked up as Root hoarsely whispered the question across the library. One person made a pointed shushing noise at Root. Root shot him a glare, before turning back to look at Shaw expectantly. Shaw stared at Root, completely caught off guard by the question.

"What?" Shaw demanded in a low whisper, finding herself annoyed by the question and beginning to tug at the plastic wrapping of the sandwich. Studious Young Man glared at Shaw, but Shaw ignored him. Root sighed and shrugged.

"Oh you know," she said, gesturing loftily. "James Bond stuff." Shaw snorted, earning her another “shush!” from the studious young man who was Just Trying To Study. She rolled her eyes at him before turning back to Root.

"No," she hissed, turning back to her notes, "I have never done any James Bond stuff."

"Why not?" Root demanded. Shaw looked up at her again, and then down at her sandwhich. She closed her book and indicated that Root should follow her.

"Because I am in the army, not in the secret service," she whispered at Root as she walked away from the study area.

"Okay, yeah, I get that," Root replied, waving the difference away loftily, the volume of her voice rising slightly now that they were out of the study area. Shaw turned around to shush Root. Root continued in a hoarse whisper. "But don't you have to do some secret training in the army?" Shaw rolled her eyes at the question.

"What is secret training?" She asked, settling against a shelf in the stack. Root looked around, shrugged and sat down next to Shaw, who was happily unwrapping her sandwich.

"How do you avoid detection, for example?" Root asked. Shaw raised an eyebrow.

"You mean, in a battle?" She asked.

"Yes!" Root said with a delighted smile. Shaw narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

"Why are you asking?" Root pulled out her large and clunky laptop and opened it. It showed a computer game in mid-action. It was one of those strategy games that Cole loved. Shaw stared at it in surprised.

"I'm planning a battle," Root explained happily. Shaw stared at the screen in amazement, and then looked away. Root closed her laptop again; she had banked on Shaw’s disdain for computers and technology to prompt her not to click any buttons. The screenshot of the battle was simple a gif that Root had programmed to repeat until Shaw was pleased with the evidence. She was planning a much larger battle, but rather a metaphorical one. Or a cyber one. (she could already here Hanna, shaking her head. “Cyber-battle? is that really a word you want to create?”)

"Fine," Shaw allowed, biting into the sandwich. "What do you want to know?"

"How do you win a battle?" Root asked simply. Shaw snorted.

“You’re better than everyone else,” she offered. Root rolled her eyes.

“How do I win the battle in my game?”

"Well, you need to be aware of your terrain."

"I'm an expert in it."

"...okay," Shaw sighed. "Does your army have camouflage?" Root furrowed her brow.

"Camouflage?" She repeated, thoughtfully.

"So your enemies can't see you attack," Shaw added. Root waved her off.

"I know what camouflage is," she explained. "I just hadn't thought of it."

"For your imaginary battle."

"Yes, for my imaginary battle. What else?"

"What are your weapons like? What are their weapons like?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"Well, I don't know what their weapons look like."

"Well, make them reveal them. You can't fight a war without enough intelligence on the other side."

"How do you figure out what their weapons are?"

"Well, you could feign an attack."

"Feign an attack?" Root repeated thoughtfully.

"Yes."

“Why?”

“They will attack your feint. And thus reveal their weapons. And once you know what they have, you can fight them.”

"I like that."

"Well, great. Can I go back to my work now? Unlike some of us, I haven't got super speed when it comes to math." Root smirked and nodded.

"You can go," she said, opening her computer again as Shaw got up. Shaw looked down at her, frowning.

"Is that really all you needed?" She asked. Root didn’t even look up.

"Yes."

"Why?" Shaw repeated. Root glanced at her with her blasé smile.

"I told you. Computer game stuff."

"I can't believe you take games this seriously."

"I'm a serious person."

"No, you're not."

"Go do your math, Shaw."

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"I have to continue working on my computer project." Shaw rolled her eyes. “See you in class!” Shaw sighed, and went back to working on her matrixes.

 

Root had it figured it out. She needed camouflage, and she needed to see what kind of weapons the government could use against her if she did hack the database. The reason that the police had caught her in December was a simple technical error on her part, coupled with the fact that she was the only student at the university with the skills, the IQ, and the educational record to pull something like that off. So, she had to camouflageherself.

That shouldn't be too hard.

Jason's office was in the library. Many first time instructors had small, unused rooms all over campus as their offices. Root strategically began doing her homework around his office, watching him.

It was almost too easy.

"Root?" Root looked up, feigning surprise. Jason was standing next to her, glancing down at her work. She smiled at him.

"Yes?" She asked pleasantly. He looked down at her assignment and furrowed his brows.

"Isn't that the final assignment for Math 350?"

"What class?"

"Graph Theory and Combinatorics? With Van Hughes?"

"Oh, yes."

"It's the 11th. of February." He was staring at her in amazement. "How are you doing the final?" Root shrugged.

"Van Hughes gives me all of the assignments ahead of time," she explained casually.

"He's already devised them?" Jason asked, amazed.

"Well," Root said with a shrug, "he does it because of me."

"But you've barely covered any of the material yet!" Root shrugged and gestured to the textbook open in front of her.

"I covered it on my own."

"All the material?" He asked, amazed. Root shrugged.

"It's easy," she said, waving away his protest.

"What program are you in again?" Jason asked.

"Joint Honors in Mathematics and Computer Science," Root offered with a casual smile.

"Are you in Honors Numerical Analysis this semester too?"

"Yes." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Have you been to class?" He asked, suspicious. Root smirked.

"Not yet."

"It's February!"

"Yeah, but Professor Deleon knows me too."

"So she gave you all the assignments in advance too?"

"Sorta."

"Why?"

"I get bored very easily."

"If you're finishing the course material now, what do you do for the rest of the semester?"

"Oh, I have a job."

"A job?"

"Yeah, I work with the IT department here? I create programs to strengthen the firewall but that still allows students to connect their own laptops to the school's mainframe."

"This is insane."

"Thanks?"

"Why do you come to my class then? It must be boring." Root shrugged.

"Its not that bad," she said absently. Jason narrowed her eyes at her.

"What am I missing?" He demanded. Root looked up at him, and then smiled at him, brightly.

"Nothing," she said brightly. "Anyway, how can I help you?" He tilted his head at her and then shrugged.

"Are you really that bored?" He asked, tilting his head. Root nodded.

"Yes," she said decisively.

"Well, okay, here's the thing. My friends and I are co-authoring a paper on a probabilistic algorithm for finding motifs in sets of orthologous sequences."

"Sounds fun."

"Well, it is. But its a lot of work. We have to run a lot of simulations, but both Daniel and I are teaching, and Daizo is TA-ing for Professor Miller, whose keeping him very busy."

"And?"

"Well, we can't hire a Research Assistant." Root narrowed her eyes at him.

"You want me to help you?" She asked.

"Yes," Jason said, shifting awkwardly. "We would pay you," he quickly added. Root smirked.

"Who is working with you?" She asked.

"Daniel Casey and Daizo." Her eyes lit up at the mention of Daniel Casey's name.

"Daniel Casey? Isn't he the one whose research is on programming languages?"

"Yes! And he created his own dialect in our paper. He'll teach you about it." A man who created a nearly non-existent dialect of a programming language. He would be the perfect person to teach her cameflague. 

"Okay. I'm hired." Jason beamed at Root.

"Thank you so much, you won't regret this! Daniel and I will do our best to keep your interested!"

 

Hanna stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched as Root tapped away at her large desktop computer. The bright light of the screen seemed to fill her whole bedroom with a blue glow. Hanna bit her lip and looked back at the clock over the fridge. 3AM, and Root had class tomorrow. She probably just hadn't realised the time. She stepped forward and tentatively knocked on the door. Root looked up and held up a hand.

"One second," she mumbled, "I think I have this."

She clicked a button, and her screen went from the all black mysterious coding screen that Hanna was always slightly afraid of, to the general program. It came up with another error message, and Root growled at it.

"Everything okay?" Hanna asked quietly.

"Yeah," Root sighed, leaning over to turn off her screen and getting up and stretching slowly. "Coding is just about messing up. A lot."

"Have you figured out why yet?" Root smirked.

"Somewhere," she said with a sigh, "in that giant program there is a single misplaced comma, or perhaps a spelling mistake, or a number outside the wrong bracket. I need to find it, and then it /should/ run."

"What is it?" Hanna asked gently. Root shrugged.

"A program." Hanna narrowed her eyes.

"A program I would approve of?"

"Well, its homework."

"Homework?"

"Of a kind."

"I don't trust that smirk, Root." Root laughed wryly.

"Get some sleep, Hanna."

"Root," Hanna cautioned. Root looked up, and she noted Hanna's serious expression and mirrored it.

"What?" she asked gently.

"You're not doing anything dangerous, are you?" Root stared at her. The streetlight flitered through the window, casting Hanna in a strange orange light as she watched Root's lythe movements with a combination of suspion and gentle worry. Root took off her t-shirt, facing the wall, and put on her pj top before she answered.

"I'm not doing anything dangerous," she repated slowly.

"But it is illegal?" Hanna asked softly. Root sighed and turned around, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning.

"Building the program isn't illegal," she began but Hanna raised up her hand.

"I don't want you to lie to me," she decided. "I just want you to promise me you won't get into a situation where you might get arrested again."

"You're worried I'll get arrested?" Root asked, suddenly bright again. Hanna sent Root a penatrating glare.

"Please note that I specifically said that I didn't want you to get into a situation where you might get arrested. I know you can evade arrest if you want to, but I don't want you to have to." Root swallowed. Hanna advanced forward into the room.

"Promise me," Hanna murmured. "You're all I have, Root. Don't get hurt." Root stepped forward and awkwardly hugged Hanna.

"I promise," she murmured, before breaking away.

Hanna could always tell when Root lied. She was the only one that could; there was this slight tilt of the head, this elastic smile, and then this flawless truth, that didn't correspond to reality, but somehow still flawlessly existed in the ether. Hanna had watched Root spin for days, creating an intricate web of ideas that balanced and hung on a single thread. And then Root would tug, and watch it all unravel, smiling.

She liked being caught. She liked watching as people unraveled like a spool while she smoothly shifted their universe, rearranging it with the slightest skillful tug.

Hanna hated the game. It was cruel, but watching Root spin was like watching art spill out from a campus. Suddenly, a blacklight was hit, and a whole new layer of text was revealed. It was bright white in the blue light, but eerily it had always been there. Denying Root's cruelty was denying Root herself, for it was in her very essence.

As Hanna walked back to her own room, chewing her lip, she didn't look behind her.

Root was lying, and for the first time in their lives, she lied to Hanna.

It didn't signal good things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up breaking this month into two chapters, SORRY FRIENDS. also, camouflage is a HARD WORD TO SPELL.


	4. February 2001, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So what did you do all night?" She asked. Root smirked.  
> "Crime," she replied simply. Shaw raised an eyebrow in disbelief.  
> "What?" She asked.  
> "I did crime. Or better said, cybercrime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sry this chapter took longer but at least its a nice long chapter?

"I got your text." Shaw placed the large white coffee cup in front of Root with a thump. Root looked up at her, blinking for a second into the ceiling light before she smiled, grateful. "Why didn't you sleep?" Shaw demanded, scrutinizing the dark rings under her eyes. Root shrugged.

"Hanna isn't home." Shaw rolled her eyes.

"Where's Hanna?" Root shrugged and sipped on her coffee.

"Her mom's in the hospital." Shaw blinked, and then frowned.

"Oh,” she murmured tactlessly. Root shrugged.

"Yeah, its her second mastectomy," she elaborated, uninvited. Shaw nodded.

"Oh."

"Hanna got an official leave of absence for this week,” Root continued. “She wanted to be home to help her dad."

"And you stayed?" Shaw asked. Root chuckled.

"Hanna's dad doesn't like me much," she explained.

"Oh."

"Can you say anything other than that?" Root asked, raising an eyebrow. Shaw shrugged.

"Don't really know what to say," she admitted. "My mom's never had any kind of cancer." Root sighed.

"You're useless," she informed Shaw, though Shaw knew that there was an edge of understanding in her voice. Shaw smiled a little.

"I did bring you coffee," she pointed out. Root smirked.

"It's true." She agreed. Shaw titled her head.

"So what did you do all night?" She asked. Root smirked.

"Crime," she replied simply. Shaw raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"What?" She asked.

"I did crime. Or better said, cybercrime."

“Cybercrime?” Shaw repeated. Root nodded.

“Cybercrime.” Shaw rolled her eyes again.

"What's cybercrime?" She asked. Root yawned.

"Hacking, mainly," she admitted. Shaw snorted.

"Sounds boring." Root pouted.

"It isn't," she protested. Shaw smirked. Before she could explain to Shaw just how not boring cybercrime was, Jason cleared his throat. The lights dimmed and he began his lecture. Root settled back into her seat with a huff.

 

The second class finished, Root jumped up. “Cybercrime is a crime,” she whispered to Shaw. “It’s illegal!” Shaw smirked and rolled her eyes.

“Were you thinking of that all class?” she asked, packing away her notebook. Root crossed  her arms and sniffed. Shaw rolled her eyes. "But you don't do any of the fun parts of crime," she pointed out. Root raised an eyebrow.

"What do you consider the fun parts?” She asked. Shaw smirked.

"Shooting people?" She offered. Root stared at her.

"Woah! What kind of crime do you commit?!" She demanded.

"None!" Root raised an eyebrow at Shaw. Shaw smirked. "Look, I wouldn't be able to be a reserve in the army if I was caught," she explained. "Though I appreciate your faith in me." Root sighed out and steered them towards the Starbucks they usually went to.

"Boring," she mumbled.

"Are you getting another coffee?" Shaw asked, amazed. Root laughed.

"Yes! I have a lot of things to do."

"What kind of things?"

"Crime things." Shaw rolled her eyes, and they walked together in silence. Root seemed to be lost in thought, crunching through the thin layer of snow on the sidewalk. Shaw watched her carefully, an unfamiliar nibbling at her chest. Root looked deathly pale. Shaw tried to blame the winter sunlight, tried to blame the snow reflecting on her face, tried to blame the early hour, but she knew an unhealthy pallor when she saw one. Root’s dark circles were stark and purple, and Shaw wondered why she had never realised how thin Root was. The nibbling of worry? fear? hunger? returned.

She pushed it down as she held the door of the warm coffee shop for Root and then fell in line behind her. The nibbling didn’t like being ignored though, so Shaw clenched her jaw and asked, in a rush: "Are you doing anything dangerous?"

Root looked up at the question, surprised. Before she could come up with a witty retort to deflect the small edge of concern to the question, the barista asked for their order, and Root bought them their usual coffee. Shaw didn't stop watching Root as she picked up her coffee, her hand quivering slightly.

"How long have you not slept?" Shaw asked. Root waved her hand absently.

"Not long," she protested, coffee spilling over the lip of the paper cup. Shaw took the cup out of her hand and fastened the lid with a click, before handing it back to Root with a suspicious glare.

"When did Hanna leave for Bishop?" It was the same question but with different words. Root smiled.

"Friday."

"When will she be back?"

"Sometime," Root muttered, staring at the offered sugar and milk for a second too long, before she shrugged and didn't add either to her coffee. Shaw grabbed Root's arm to stop her walking away.

"I don't trust you on your own," she snapped. Root looked down at her and rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry about me, Sameen," she murmured. "I'm a big girl."

"That doesn't mean you can take care of yourself."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" She said with a joking smirk. Shaw didn’t smile.

"When was the last time you ate?" She demanded. Root blinked.

"What?"

"When was the last time you ate?" Shaw repeated patiently. Root laughed and tried to elegantly deflect the concern.

"Oh, I don't know. Saturday sometime?” Shaw’s brow darkened and Root swallowed, quickly losing her calm. “What day is it?" She asked cautiously.

"It's Monday, and you're coming over to my apartment tonight." Root blinked again, before shaking her head wearily.

"I can't," she sighed.

"Why not?"

"I need to work on my computer."

"Can't you work on your laptop?"

"No." Shaw rolled her eyes, and huffed.

"Fine, then I'm coming over to your apartment." Root narrowed her eyes at Shaw, clearly slightly suspicious.

"Suit yourself," she decided with a shrug. Shaw looked between Root and her watch.

"I have class now," she said. Root sighed dramatically.

"I'll survive until you get there, Sameen. Stop worrying." Shaw scoffed.

"I'm not worried about you."

"Well, then stop giving me that look."

"Get some sleep."

"Yeah, whatever."

 

Shaw showed up at Root’s house at 5pm with two grocery bags full of food. Root just smirked at her, and let her in, before settling down at the kitchen counter and continuing with her homework. Shaw wasted no time getting started on her meal.  

“When is Hanna coming back?" Root didn't even look from her homework: she just relied with a shrug. Shaw sent her a glare over the fridge. "More than two days?" she asked. Another grunt. Shaw narrowed her eyes and then started pulling food out of the fridge. "I'll take that as a yes," she mumbled to herself. About five minutes later, once Root had finally disproved this idea, she looked up.

"What are you doing?" she asked, confused. Shaw looked up from where she was just finishing chopping the onion, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Chopping an onion," she snapped. Root raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but why are you crying?"

"Have you never chopped an onion before?"

"Well, I mean, Hanna has..."

"Onions make you cry."

"What? Why?"

"There's something in the skin of the onion."

"That's incredibly strange. Why does Hanna never cry?" Shaw shrugged and walked over to the sink, carefully running cold water over her wrist.

"How am I meant to know?" She asked. "Some people are less sensitive than others."

"You're really sensitive to onions?"

"Why is this s

"i'm just surprised, that's all!"

"Did your mother never cook for you? Did you never cook? I don't understand how you can be ignorant about this." Root chuckles and shakes her head.

"You, Shaw," she said with a specific kind of lightness that Shaw felt was eerily wrong, "know nothing." Shaw clenched her jaw, but didn't correct Root. Instead she started chopping the peppers.

"What are you doing?" she asked, feeling the uncomfortable intensity of Root’s gaze. Root looked up from her assignment.

"The final assignment for differental trigonometry. Once I'm done with this, I don't have any assignments left anymore."

"That's insane."

"Well, yeah this question is," Root agreed, humming. Shaw raised an eyebrow.

"What do you have to do?" she asked, peeking over. Her brow furrowed at all the formulas, but Root just smirked. She pulled out the paper and showed it to Shaw.

"I have to prove that this can't work." she said simply. Shaw blinked several times and stared at the assignment sheet.

"Where does it say that?" she asked. Root pulled back the document and looked down at it, deflating all of a sudden and then chuckling to herself.

"It doesn't say it anywhere." she admitted. "I just spent four hours working on a question to which I had the answer more than three hours ag." Shaw smirked.

"Glad to have been of service," she said proudly. Root rolled her eyes at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Shaw looked down at her mass of chopped vegatables, putting the onion and the pepper in the pan together and starting their sauteing.

"I'm making you stir fry." She checked the rice, and smiled happily. "I'm making you enough to last you several meals."

"Several meals?"

"Yup."

"Wow, that's..." Root's brow furrowed.

"Intense," Shaw added, smirking. "Now. since I cooked, tell me what your big project was."

"What?"

"Why didnt you get any sleep yesterday?"

"Oh, right. Crime! I told you!”

"Yeah. I want details. What crime?" Root shrugged.

"I built a virus."

"A virus?"

"Yeah give me your phone."

"Phone?"

"Just -" she held out her hand. Shaw dropped her phone into her outstretched palm, and Root smirked, typing something in.

"Tonight, at midnight, go on this website," she said, handing Shaw her phone back. Shaw looked down; it was a random alphanumeric string, with .com tacked on the bottom, entered into her notes. "Download the program it advertises."

"That's the virus?"

"No, you idiot. That's the anti-virus software."

"You created a virus, and you're giving me the antidote."

"Well, i'm gonna unleash it on the school tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Because I need to know what the university will do when that happens."

"Won't they find you?"

"Find me?"

"Well, catch you, anyway?"

"I built the anti-virus software, and I will be the person who they ask to dismantle the virus. There is no way any sane computer scientist would create a virus that so perfectly slips through the loopholes of her own firewall, only to almost immediately squash it with a far superior antidote."

"So...."

"That's what I'm doing though."

"Would it make sense to ask why?" Root chuckled.

"No, it wouldn't." Shaw rolled her eyes.

"You're insane," she muttered. Root smirked and picked a red pepper out of the pan, blowing on it before she began nibbling it.

"This is true," she agreed.

"Does Hanna know about this?" Shaw demanded. Root chuckled.

"Hanna would never let me do this."

"So, she doesn't?"

'"Not yet, anyway."

"When will you tell her?"

"When its important for her to find out." Shaw just narrowed her eyes at Root, but let the topic drop. Dinner was almost done, anyway.

 

The next day at work, Root came in on time. She sat down at her desk. She looked around at her co-workers, who were all either scrupulously checking 4chan, or doing actual work. Root smirked and quietly inserted her memory stick into the machine.

“This drive contains some harmful programs. Do you wish to proceed?”

Root pressed enter, and grinned happily as there was a quiet noise of distress from her computer. All the programs disappeared.

She smirked as she pulled out the memory stick, and then continued to work. Slowly, like flies dropping, over the next 24 hours, every single computer in the school network crashed, displaying the bluescreen of death. Root and the nine other people who worked in IT started getting panicked calls from professors and students alike, all who demanded a repaired system, and they wanted it now. Root's boss, a stout young woman named X, looked around the room, her eyes finding Root.

"How soon can you have this virus out of our system?" she demanded, hair slightly frazzled and eyes quivering. Root smirked.

"Give me four hours," she said. She only needed four minutes; she had already created the antidote. It had been what she had been working on for the better part of the the month. The antidote was really her virus; the virus was simply one a hacker had created nearly four years ago. It was frequently used and widely published on the internet. As long as you knew where to find it, it could be accessed. Root hadn't even tweaked it, although she could have. The original writer of the virus had left a fair amount of bugs, but Root had resisted. This wasn't to be traced back to her. She slowly began uploading her antidote.

This, on the other hand, had her signature all over it. But in order to find it, someone would have to pick apart the network, not just slightly, but literally rear it part. Someone would have to shred it, and then analyse every single strand of code in order to find Root's neat little note, informing them that she could see everything now. The upload began; it would take four minutes.

Just as Root had predicted.

Four minutes, and every single piece of data on the school network would be in her hands. She smirked.

It was almost too simple.

But in the end, wasn't that meant to be the point.

 

Dear Professors, Students and Faculty,

We have had a massive breach in the firewall of the system, but through the work of our excellent engineers, we managed to safeguard the work of every single computer user on the network and associated with it. Your computer will automatically reset itself to its last saved program within twelve hours if you connect to the network again. It will automatically download the software that we created as an antidote.

All of your work will be restored, ad please do not doubt that we are making our inquires into the matter and punishing all members responsible.

The IT Department.

 

There was a loud rap on the door, and then a bunch of people filled into the IT office. Root looked up from her computer, surprised. It was nearly 4pm on a Friday. Most people left early. She blinked again when she recognised the principle at the head of the group, leading four people inside. Root narrowed her eyes; one of the men had a slight limp and wore glasses. He was plain, but the man next to him was far more recognisable, bouncing on his feet in excitement and looking around.

"Oh," he sighed happily, "back at the Alma Mater, huh, Harold?" His friend looked unimpressed.

"Calm down, Nathan," he muttered. "We have a job to do."

"Yes! We do!" Nathan agreed. "A job that our old university hired us to do."

"This is the IT department offices,” the principle was explaining to them. Harold nodded, looking over each of the workers. Root held eye contact with him for a minute, tilting her head, before the phone next to her desk rang again. She looked down, sighed and picked up the phone, prepared to help the next student with their problem in rebooting their computer. She couldn't believe that the IT department simultaneously trusted her to write an important and incredibly complex code, while also leaving her to answer emails from these freshman who still seemed overwhelmed by microsoft office. She deserved better than this, didn't she?

She dealt with the student quickly, clippedly explaining to him that just putting his computer to sleep was not at all the same as restarting it, and for the software to truly become part of his system, he would really need to update his computer. When Root finished with her phone conversation and looked up again, her boss was waiting for her, smiling broadly. "And this is Samantha, our best employee, even though she's only just finishing her undergrad in comp sci."

Root looked up and smiled demurely, as was considered proper. The man bounded forward and shook her hand enthusiastically.

"Just like Harold!" He cooed. "Though of course when we were here ten years ago computers weren't as big as a thing as they are now. Good that we built our company on that, right?" Harold nodded thoughtfully, looking over Root. She shook his hand next.

"Do you enjoy your studies?" he asked her. Root smiled again, and nodded.

"I think that our university offers a unique learning environment," she told him happily, using the spiel she always employed when anyone back home asked her about studying on the east coast. "The teachers really have a vested interest in our education, and I have never heard of the amout of freedom to experiment with technology that I have here existing at any other university." Nathan rubbed his hands together.

"That could be because of our gracious donations." he said happily. Harold rolled her eyes.

"Could be," he agreed sarcastically. Nathan didn't hear this undertone and continued to look around the room in excitement.

"Do all the computers still run windows?" Harold asked Root. She nodded.

"Yes, they do."

"Do you think the problem orginated from an inherently weak operating system?" he asked. Root shook her head.

"I think it was just some small loose ends in my firewall. I built it myself after the last one failed several test scenarios I ran against it."

"You built the firewall yourself?"

"Yes, with the help of several employees. It was seven of us in total, but I directed the endevours."

"How did the virus get in?"

"Honestly, I'm still figuring that out, sir. It only happened a week ago, and i still have classes." He smiled and nodded.

“Of course,” he said apologetically, though he didn’t smile at her. The principal clapped her hands together.

“Now that our tour is over, the board is waiting,” she told the men. Nathan looked up with the simple excitement of a dog hearing the familiar rustle of treats.

“Wonderful!” He cooed; “come on Harold! Let’s go!” Harold nodded at Root.

“Goodbye Ms. Groves,” he said. She nodded back.

“Good bye sir.” All three of them left. Root couldn’t stop smiling, even when she got another call from a Freshman about just why his system was still not working.

 

Shaw looked up as Root sauntered into the library and narrowed her eyes at her. "You look incredibly smug for a Friday evening in the library study session," she noted. Root smirked and stole one of Shaw’s fries.

"They pulled out the big guns," she hummed, sitting up on Shaw’s desk. Shaw swatted her away.

"Who pulled out what?"  She demanded.

"Since this has been the seventh virus to invade the system this year, our university has hired two men who own a company that specializes almost entirely in computing, to investigate."

"Shouldn't you be worried?" Shaw demanded. Root chuckled.

"Men in suits don't scare me, Shaw," she murmured. "Now, let's see if they find something."

"And if they do?"

"My signature is all over it."

"You'll be arrested?"

"Probably."

"You can't exactly graduate university from jail, you know."

"Well," Root said thoughtfully, "I suppose I can't. But it's always worth a try?"

"You are too confident for your own good," Shaw snapped. Root just smiled happily and reached for another fry.

"Thanks, I try."

 

 


	5. March 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You win some, you lose some.

 

"Hey," Shaw looked up. Root was leaning against the wall, bright red scarf and black beanie covering her face against the biting March wind, though Shaw could tell she was smirking. Shaw narrowed her eyes at Root and looked around, annoyed.

"How do you know I'm in this class?" She demanded, grabbing Root’s elbow. Root’s grin widened.

"Is that still a question you ask me?" Root asked in mock boredom. She pulled her hand out of her pocket and brushed her fingernails on her coat mockingly. "Of course I know where you are. I know everything." Shaw wasn’t impresse.

"No, you don't," she snapped. Root rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the wall.

"Well, I do know you don't have class any more," she pointed out, falling into step next to Shaw. Shaw narrowed her eyes at Root. That sounded like a veiled demand.

"And?" She asked, critically. Root smirked.

"And,” she repeated victoriously, “you owe me a favor." Shaw clenched her jaw and stopped, spinning so she could glare at Root.

"What do you want, Root?" Root continued walking, though she turned around to throw Shaw an innocent smile.

"I need you to come with me," she said cheerfully.

"Come with you where?" Shaw demanded, jogging to catch up with Root. Root shrugged, staring up at the cloudy sky.

"The bank," she said, turning back to Shaw with a brilliant grin. Shaw’s eyes narrowed again.

"What are we doing at the bank?"  She demanded. Root shrugged.

"Getting out cash?" She offered.

"Why do you need me for that?" Shaw snapped.

"I want company," Root replied nonchalantly.

"I don't trust you." Shaw growled. Root chuckled and turned around so she was facing Shaw. She smiled happily.

"Well, that doesn't matter,” she purred, stepping closer to Shaw and trailing her hands down Shaw’s arms, “since you're going to do it anyway."

“Is that a threat?!” Shaw demanded, shaking off Root and walking again. Root chuckled.

“No,” she said cheerfully.

"Then why do you say that?"

"I know everything, right?" Shaw rolled her eyes, but fell into step next to Root. As they got to the edge of campus, Shaw made to go left; it was where the closest bank was. Root grabbed her elbow and maneuvered her forward instead, however. Shaw narrowed her eyes.

"What bank are we going to?” She asked. Root shrugged. “Exactly?" Shaw pressed.

"The one on Cresent and Main," Root said with an apologetic smirk.

"That's five miles away." Root grinned and stepped into traffic, waving down a cab. "I know," she hummed. "We're taking a cab."

"Why are we doing this again?" Shaw asked, following Root into the taxi. Root gave the cab driver instructions, and then sat back in the cab, reaching into her messenger bag and offering Shaw a cereal bar and a collection of papers. Shaw eyed the food suspiciously. It was her favorite brand. She took it grudgingly and flipped through the paperwork. A passport fell out. Shaw opened the passport and raised an eyebrow. She turned around the image and showed it to Root with a raised eyebrow. "Habayea? Hala Habayea?" She repeated, scornfully. Root frowned at Shaw’s scathing expression.

"Its a Lebanese name!" Root said.

“Lebanese?” Shaw repeated with a snort.

"It sounds like it could suit...you," Root muttered, frowning.

"Is that a racist comment?" Shaw demanded. Root shot her a glare.

"No!" She snapped. Shaw grinned, excited that for once she had caught Root on the defensive.

"Because you know my mom's Persian, right?"

"I know!"

"So why did you give me an Arabic name?"

"Because -"

"-Just because they're from the same linguistic family doesn't mean -"

"- I know the difference, Shaw!"

"You do?" Shaw jabbed the passport. "Why is that my photo there then? I'm clearly persian."

"Do you really think Susan from Cincinnati can tell the difference?"

"Isn't that rascist?" Root crossed her arms.

"No.” She decided with a defiant sniff. “Not of me, anyway," she added quickly. Shaw grinned.

"Whatever,” she murmured triumphantly, smirking happily. “Now, why am I holding a fake passport?" Root brightened up again.

"I’m so glad you asked! So, there's this game -"

"-this is for a game!?"

"Pay attention. Now, the game is - create a fake identity so convincing they will let you open a bank account in that name."

"So that's what i'm doing?" Root laughed.

"No, not at all." She chucked a thick stack of debit cards at Shaw. Shaw caught them, and shuffled through them, reading aloud each name.

"Ada Lovelace, Grace Hooper, Caroline Turning, Karen Iverson, Alice Ginsburg.... There are like fifteen of these! This is crazy Root."

"I prefer daring. Now, this," she gestured at the passport, "is checking how good my skills really are."

"How so?" Shaw handed back the pile of debit cards as Root shrugged.

"Hala isn't an american citizen." Shaw narrowed her eyes.

"What does that mean?" She asked slowly. Root shrugged again.

"Banks stare longer." Shaw’s jaw clenched.

"If we get caught -" She began.

"- nothing will happen.” Root interrupted her. “They will decline. We will leave. That's it." Shaw narrowed her eyes.

"I don't trust you." Root gave Shaw a large smile.

"That's okay," she said, touching Shaw’s shoulder with a cheerful grin. She leaned forward. "Drop us here?" She called out to the driver.

Shaw stepped out as Root paid the bill and looked at the bank. This was a less crowded part of town; Shaw looked around and realised they were near Chinatown. She smiled, suddenly excited. After she had finished this she could go to her favorite dumpling restaurant which was only four blocks from here. She would make this trip worth it.

Root pulled Shaw's elbow until they were standing outside the bank. "Here you go. Go in. Tell them you want an account. I'll be waiting here for you." Root settled down on the step and wound her scarf around her neck tighter. Shaw glanced at her one last time and then entered the bank.

 

Shaw hated it when Root was right, but Root was right. The whole process took about 20 minutes, during which no one even blinked at Shaw, or Hala. When they left Shaw alone for about five minutes, the inspected the passport closely; it was an excellent forgery. The man returned and handed Shaw a phone number and an information packet.

“All you have to do to finalize your bank account, Ms. Habayea, is call this number!” He said cheerfully. “Your debit card is in the packet, and if you remain with our institution for over a year, we will automatically pre-approve you from a credit card!” Shaw gave him her best simpering smile.

“Wonderful,” she cooed. “Thank you so much!” The man nodded and smiled, and Shaw skipped out of the bank, throwing the information packet at Root with a satisfied smirk. Root flinched, and didn’t catch it, and it landed on the asphalt with a quiet bump.

“Turns out you are just that good,” Shaw said with a smirk. Root grinned.

“Knew it,” she said cheerfully. “Also, you should keep this,” she said, handing the packet back to Shaw. You never know when you want to charge me for buying you dinner.” Shaw narrowed her eyes.

“What are you playing at Root?”

“Isn’t your favorite dumplings restaurant around here somewhere?”

“Root?” Root started walking down the street, her messenger bag bouncing against her leg. Shaw bit her cheek, considered the bank, and followed. “Root,” she snapped. Root didn’t look up. “What are you playing at?” Shaw demanded. Root shot Shaw a smug grin as she fell into step next to her.

“I like thinking ahead, Shaw,” she said cheerfully.

“Ahead?!” Shaw demanded.

“I may have just won one game, but you never know.” Root smiled. Shaw stared at Root, and then scanned the street behind them.

"Root, how many games are you playing at a time?" Root laughed and looked at the sky, before glancing at Shaw. She tilted her head, her eyes glittering with mirth.

"Well, at the moment, its only three."

"Only," Shaw repeated with a scoff.

"Well, I mean, if you consider the games that are currently taking place in my life -"

"-are you kidding me-"

"-then its probably closer to 12." Shaw wanted to say something snarky, but a movement in the corner of her eye made her spin around again. She narrowed her eyes, and then stopped, grabbing Root’s arm.

"Root," she snarled. Root looked uncharacteristically surprised.

"Yes?" She asked carefully.

"What are those 3 games you're playing right now?" Shaw snapped. Root melted into her smirk again.

"A girl doesn't win and tell," she teased with a wink. Shaw spun around and stepped in front of Root quickly.

"Does it include the triad?" She asked quietly. Root’s brow furrowed.

"Game #2 might," she admitted.

"Might?" Shaw repeated with a scoff.

"Why?" Root demanded.

"That is the third time that man has passed us and -" before Shaw could continue, there was  a loud cracking gunshot and Shaw launched herself forward, slamming into Root's side.

Root crashed into the ground, head first. She fought to take a breath, panic piercing through her skin. She gasped for breath of air and rolled over. Above her, Shaw had already jumped up again, facing off against a young man with a knife. Everything was slightly blurry; Root tried to focus on Shaw, but suddenly she was moving too fast, stepping forward, bending down; the man grabbed her wrist, but she used his momentum against him, pulling him forward and blocking the knife with an elegant parry, before slamming her elbow into the small of his back. He collapsed with a quiet "oh;" Shaw didn't waste a second on him, instead turning around and meeting a second assailant that Root hadn't even seen. Root crawled to the side of the sidewalk and tried to pull herself up on the fence.

Something slammed into Root's back; she twisted around, only to be punched in the shoulder. as she realed back in surprise, staring at her attack with wide eyes. "Root, duck," Shaw snarled somewhere behind Root, but Root was too slow; too clumsy. She didn't even see the knife; she only felt a jab of searing pain as her attacker stuck something into her stomach, and then yanked it out again. Root fell back, sitting down on the asphalt with jerking movements as her hand went to cover the area of stinging pain. It came away wet with blood.

Shaw slammed the second assailant's face into her knee before she grabbed the first man's knife and threw it behind her.

"Root, are you okay?" she called. Root wanted to say something. She wanted to say something like "it's a non-fatal hit," or "don't worry about me!" but she couldn't even make a sound.

She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. She tried to push herself off from the ground, but moving her shoulder blade caused an almost unimaginable flash of pain. Root cried out. Shaw dropped down next to her.

"Where does it hurt?" She snapped. Root looked up. Her face was blurry; was everyone gone? Shaw picked up Root's wrist and measured her pulse.

"Give me your phone," Shaw snarled. Root saw black. Through the darkness she could hear Shaw's voice: "-from shock; she has an irregular heart rate and is blacking out -" Root tasted iron at the back of her mouth. Her head rolled against the asphalt. she dimly realised she was in the recovery position; she wanted to make some joke about how she wasn’t going to recover. But then the ground heaved underneath her, and Root blacked out again.

Root remembered words; emergency contact was brandied about. “Hanna,” she whispered, clutching the closest hand. “ _Hanna_.”


	6. March 2001 - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root slipped in and out of conscience, aware of different voices and different lights and different commands, but every time she took a breath, a stabbing pain shuddered up her body, and she welcomed the darkness as an escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sry this took 2 long but updates will b once a week from now on

Root slipped in and out of conscience, aware of different voices and different lights and different commands, but every time she took a breath, a stabbing pain shuddered up her body, and she welcomed the darkness as an escape. Finally, her body felt heavy but each breath only caused mild pain; as she slowly floated towards consciousness, she realised that the pain in her side dulled as tubes were inserted in her arm, but before she could wake, and see something, another crashing wave of darkness washed over her, and Root sank.

She woke up, but when she tried to open her eyes, pain seared through her head. Root’s body stiffened, her hands curling into fists as she cowered in spite of herself. The room was too bright, the light burned her eyes. A warm hand covered hers; the touch grounded Root. She forced her breath to slow, and concentrated on the light behind her eyelids. Slowly, after she had pushed down the panic, she opened her eyes again; she was in a strange white room. There was a coppery taste at the back of her mouth, and suddenly, the panic returned, rising up in her chest like an ugly all encompassing beast. She made to sit up, but Hanna appeared in her field of vision, gently pushing at Root’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she murmured, threading a hand through Root’s. “I’m here.”

“Where am I?” Root slurred; her tongue felt too big in her mouth, and her eyes felt heavy, drooping closed. She forced them to stay open, forced them to stare at Hanna.

“St. Jude’s Hospital,” she murmured. “You were stabbed.” Root swallowed arduously. All she could see was white, and a blurry outline of Hanna’s face.

“Shaw?” she whispered. Hanna’s lip thinned and she nodded.

“She’s fine,” she promised. “Only a bruise or two. She was dismissed nine hours ago.” Root nodded. She tried to fight the fatigue; a residual effect of the drug, she realised. Hanna leaned forward and kissed her forehead affectionately. “Sleep, Root,” she commanded. Root tightened her grip around Hanna’s hand.

“Stay?” She whispered hoarsely. Hanna smiled.

“Always.” Her voice felt smooth, like honey, and Root nodded. Hanna seemed to consider her chair for a second before she gently indicated that Root should move slightly. Root smiled slowly, and shifted; Hanna sat on the bed, swinging up her legs, and Root curled into her. Her wound hurt as she shifted into Hanna, but the pain was worth it as Hanna slowly began combing through Root’s hair.

“Don’t leave,” Root whispered into Hanna’s hoodie. Hanna laughed mirthlessly.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” she assured Root, hand tangling into hair lightly. “You’re all I’ve got, Root.” The timber of Hanna’s voice echoed neatly in Root’s chest, and she fell asleep easily, synchronizing her breaths with Hanna’s.   

 

Next thing she was aware of was Hanna's voice. It's pitch, and its lilt, and its odd warmth, all pulled her back to reality together. Root heard Hanna repeat her name, and she tried to do more than just hear; she tried to answer, but dispelling the darkness behind her eyes became impossible. She coughed feebly. There seemed to be pain everywhere. Root tried to shift, and felt a disorientating wave of nausea overwhelm her again. Somewhere a small part of her brain explained to her that the painkillers had worn off. She tried to open her eyes, but the light and brightness was too much. She closed them again, and then tried to listen.

Root was in a hospital. She knew these sounds; doctors talking, nurses being paged, patients arguing. Every noise seemed to pluck on her sense, but Root ignored that. She listened for Hanna's voice, picking it out of the bustle and honing in on it. Hanna was here. Hanna was here, for her. Hanna was here. Root looked down at her hand, as if to check one childish time that Hanna wasn’t still holding her hand. She breathed out slowly, the pain in her side simmering dangerously.

Hanna is here, Hanna is here, Hanna is here.The matra was more soothing than anything else. But Root pushed it aside, and began listening to Hanna's voice.

"- the fuck was she doing?"

"She's fine Hanna -" The voice was deeper than Hanna’s and richer. Root smiled despite herself; Shaw had come back.

"She's in ER, Shaw!" The pitch of Hanna’s voice was rising in anger and exhaustion. Root knew that edge of hysteria well. She wanted to get up, hold Hanna’s hand, promise her she wasn’t alone, but she couldn’t. She could barely breathe.

"There is no lasting damage, it's just a small knife wound and a concussion;" Root winced at Shaw’s clinical tone. It was not what Hanna needed.

“A small knife wound? She got stabbed in the kidney.” Root’s eyes fluttered closed, and she imagined Shaw shrugging, exasperated. There would be a certain lean to her body, a subtle shift that Hanna wasn’t reading, but one that gave away her pain. Root smiled.

“I know! I was there!”

"Yes! You were! And you still haven’t told me WHAT THE FUCK happened?" Root’s eyes flew open, and her breath accelerated despite herself. Shaw’s body language would be changing. She would be falling back into a relaxed nonchalance, a false bravado, in response to Hanna’s hysteria.

"We were attacked."

"Why?" There was a pause. "Dont just shrug at me, Shaw! My best friend is in the hospital!!!"

"And she's not DEAD because I was there." The venom in Shaw’s voice surprised Root.

"WHY DID PEOPLE WANT TO KILL HER?" Hanna’s shout was pure hysteria, though Root could also recognise the darkness imbued in it. She imagined Hanna stepping into Shaw’s space, crowding her; Hanna was at least a head taller than Root, so she would tower over Shaw, intimidating her solely through her height.

"You're gonna have to ask her." Root barely heard the response; Shaw’s voice had dropped to a low and threatening whisper. Root shivered; she imagined Hanna taking a cautious step back, remembering suddenly that Shaw was lethal, despite her height. There was a pause; Root wished she could see them. She wanted to see their expressions. Instea, she just heard the slight squeak of a shoe on linoleum and Hanna’s voice.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"I have homework to finish," Shaw answered, her voice fading.

"Root is in the hospital."

"And I'm leaving." Root closed her eyes again. Her head hurt. She couldn't breathe. She listened to the door open and slam. There was the sound of a creaking chair, and then Hanna lacing her hand through Root's.

"I can tell you're awake," Hanna muttered. Root closed her eyes harder. Hanna leaned forward and carefully cupped Root's cheek. "You're even worse at fake sleeping now then when we were kids." Root opened one eye. Hanna smiled at her sadly, and Root could tell she was serious. She opened the other eyes and returned Hanna’s level gaze. "I don't want to keep getting these phone calls, Root. What did you do?" Root closed her eyes again and swallowed heavily.

She didn't know.

“My head hurts,” she whispered instead. Hanna sighed.

“You have a concussion. The doctors are keeping you under observation.”

“I want to go home.”

“You can’t. Not yet.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” Root whispered. Hanna smiled sadly.

“I know,” she whispered.

Hanna clambered into bed next to Root again. Root edged to the side, clenching her teeth against the pain and letting none of it read on her face as Hanna slowly leaned against her carefully. "Are you in pain?" Hanna murmured. Root tilted her head.

"I'm okay," she murmured. "I think."

"You should have some of the morphine." Root hummed noncommittally as Hanna burrowed into Root's side, laying her head on her clavicle. It hurt, so Root reluctantly leaned over and pressed the button for the morphine. She lay back down and observed the two of them in the bed with a smirk. Hanna was tall enough that her feet poked out from underneath the blanket as a result, and Root giggled quietly. Hanna wriggled her toes and looked up at Root reverently for a second. Root looked down at her and smiled happily, nuzzling hair. Hanna's hair was frizzy and unkempt, betraying a night of worried fretting in the hospital, but under the smell of disinfectant and sick people, Root could still smell the woody aroma she always associated with Hanna. Slow burning fires and shotgun grease. Home?

"I'm glad you're not dead."

"Who would take care of the cats?" Root agreed, her words slurring. The morphine was beginning to have its effect on her and she began to doze off.

Root fell asleep quickly; the medication washed over her in calm waves, and as she synchronized her breathing with Hanna's she quickly slipped into oblivion.

 

Waking was jarring; the pain had returned, and Hanna was gone. Root slowly propped herself up, staring at the new figure who had replaced Hanna in the chair. A small man in a suit, with his jacket draped across his arms, watched her passively. She blinked several times, and then slowly lay back onto the bed as another wave of pain washed over her. She didn't dare press the small automated button that fed her more morphine; she thought she recognized the man, but her mind still felt heavy. She stared at him; she felt like she was swimming against the current.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice hoarse. He shook his head.

“Wrong question,” he said lightly. His voice triggered Root’s memory; the high, lilting tone echoed through her memory as she placed him. He was the man from the IT department; the small one. She narrowed her eyes at him,

"I know you," she whispered. He smiled.

"Very good, Ms. Groves," he murmured, nodding at her.

"That's not my name," she murmured. He tilted his head.

"Oh yes," he said, "the name all across your virus was 'Root,' right?" He smiled. "Root, meaning both 'the basic cause, source, or origin of something' and 'the part of a plant that attaches it to the ground or to a support, typically underground, conveying water and nourishment to the rest of the plant via numerous branches and fibers'. What an apt name for you." Root tilted her head. The pain was low and demanding in the back of her mind, but she pushed it out of the way. She felt cornered, like a weak prey in front of a ready predator. She sat up slightly straighter, and looked down at this small man.

"Why are you here?" she asked quietly, her tone sharp.

"Did you know that root is the user name or account that by default has access to all commands and files on a Unix-like operating system?" He asked instead. Her lips thinned.

"You're not answering my question," she observed.

"I'm did not come here to offer answers, Ms. Groves." He stood up. He walked to the end of the bed, and then leaned against the railing, offering no other statements. She glared at him.

"What did you come here to offer then,” she asked, adding a biting “Mysterious Computer Man?" to make sure he knew she was not a fan of him.

"You can call me Harold."

"Harold?"

"Harold.” He agreed. He smiled at her, though there was no humour in it. “I've come for some answers."

"Did you get them?" He looked at her cooly.

"You're smart," he said, matter-of-factly. Root, not in the habit of shrugging off compliments, raised an eyebrow at him. "You're bored," he added. Root smirked.

"I wasn't bored while I created that virus." She gathered that he was standing in front of her here and now instead of in front of a disciplinary hearing committee. He knew. She bit the inside of her cheek, and faked confidence. "I wasn't bored when I reaped the benefits."

"Mhh," Harold murmured, watching her still. "A most elegant virus."

"Elegant?" Root scoffed. "It was fucking genius."

"And yet."

"Yet?"

"I'm here. You were caught. It wasn't perfect enough." Root gritted her teeth. Pain and annoyance at this easily arrogant man, yielding her name and trying to force words out of her mouth grated on her. Her eyes slid to the morphine for a single second; she couldn't be dull for this.

"How did you find it?" She asked instead.

"I ran my own full diagnostic. Good touch, writing it in no known or recognizable code language. My associate's software would have never found such a subtly implanted worm." Root narrowed her eyes at him; it sounded like a threat veiled in a compliment. She wondered whether morphine or muggings could make her paranoid. "Have they arrested any suspects for your crime yet, by the way?" Root looked up, surprised.

"What?" She asked, thrown off.

"This crime. I heard that this was a calculated attack by the triad."

"It was?"

"I heard that they heard that some girl was stealing their money." Root stared at him. He smiled. “They trust their source,” he added, with an enigmatic smile that left Root with no doubt that he meant himself.

"You told the triad?!" She hissed.

"Once I had your footprint, you were too easy to trace, Ms. Groves. I’m not the first one to point that out to you. The police tried to do the same. It seems their lessons fell on deaf ears. Did mine?” and with that, he walked out. Root bit her tongue; she knew when to concede defeat, and surrender in peace.

When, later that day, a doctor announced to Root and Hanna that her scar had been infected by the dirty knife used to stab her, Root closed her eyes for a brief second. “Fine,” she snapped at the doctor. “Make it better.” He’d been taken aback at her anger, and stepped out, allowing Hanna back into the room.

Hanna sat on Root’s bed and stared at her. “Root,” she murmured, “I can tell you’re awake.” Root rolled over.

“What?” she muttered.

“How can you afford this?” Hanna whispered. Root smiled humorlessly and rolled over again.

“Experience,” she muttered bitterly. Hanna recognised the tone, and left her alone.

Root stared at the bright white wall, brooding. She was angry at herself, and that smug mysterious computer man, but mainly, herself. She was still to weak to leave the bed, and the nurses all told her there were still blood tests to be made. “You have no vaccination records,” a nurse said with slight confusion. “We’ll vaccinate you once you’re immune system is stronger. The tetanus shot is very important, especially now.”

A dirty knife in Root’s side.

It reminded her of her mother; these white walls tasted of her. Tara Groves, with her strangely dark hair and her pale bony hands. She would wring them, muttering quietly to herself; “you need a garden.” When Root was six, she had woken up to her mother presenting her with a collection of bulbs. “You need a garden,” her mother explained, eyes sleepless and too bright. Root had nodded, grinned in excitement. Her mother had worn overalls and new gardening gloves, and she had planted the bulbs tirelessly. She loved digging through the dirt, and the smell of earth and cold water. Root sat next to her, mimicking her movements, the summer sun bright against her neck. It was fun; the brand new watering can shone bright red, and she splashed water on her mom, and felt truly happy.

And then the sun had set, and Root was tired, hungry and sunburnt, but her mother wouldn’t move, wouldn’t shift. “You need a garden,” she repeated, and Root had recoiled. Something was wrong. Mom needed help. Ms. Frey, please help. Mom needs help. She wants to make me a garden.

Root lost herself in the white of the walls.

“Hey.” She didn’t know when Shaw had appeared, but she stood between the wall and Root. Root sat up too quickly; pain made her gasp aloud, and Shaw stepped forward in a moment of empathy.

“Where did you come from?” Root asked, her question turned into a demand by the strain of the pain in her side. Shaw smirked.

“I can sneak up on you, you know,” she murmured. Root glared at her. “They tell me you’ll be here until the end of the week.”

“I don’t have a tetanus shot,” Root explained lamely. Shaw snorted.

“Well thats dumb of you,” she replied. Root bit her lip. She knew about Sameen Shaw, daughter of the military. The pain in her side, and the restless anger at being stuck, being trapped, made Root’s palms itch. She wanted to snap, say something terrible at Shaw, but before she could make some snarky remark about officer class army brats and their privilege, Shaw stepped forward again and pulled something out of her bag. “I brought you a book,” Shaw explained, and suddenly the darkness around Root began to recede. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT HAROLD/ROOT INTERACTION WAS SO HARD TO WRITE BUT I WAS PROUD OF IT IN THE END??? what did u think


End file.
